


Dancing Round the Issue

by LittleMissO



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22197970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissO/pseuds/LittleMissO
Summary: I saw the trailers for the aftermath of Fleur and Serena's night out and decided I had to write my version of what happened before I watched it. Well, I've just finished it, so here it is. I've been saving up all the Holby episodes since to watch now I've got it done. Looking forward to a binge watch. Anything happen I should know about?
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 51
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

In retrospect, Serena thought, she should have known that a night out drinking with Fleur would get messy. If she hadn’t realised it by the time they’d finished the second bottle of Shiraz she most certainly should have done after the third bottle had been opened and emptied. 

Serena inhaled the last of her strong and hot coffee as if it was the only thing keeping her alive. At this point she couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t. She deposited the now empty cup on her desk with regret, and herself carefully onto the comfy office sofa. 

Deciding that, until the caffeine fully kicks in, she might be better horizontal she gingerly lays her self back and softly places her pounding head on the armrest. Closing her eyes she drinks in the peace and quiet of the ward at such an early hour in the morning, knowing full well it won’t last. AAU is a bustling and busy ward with no such thing as a standard day. It won’t be long before her shift starts and she’s swept up in a whirlwind of patients and paperwork, surgery and staff rotas, management and mangled limbs. For now though she’s happy to rest quietly, gathering her thoughts and strength, before the onslaught ahead hits. 

It can’t be more than five minutes before the peace of the office is snatched away by the shrill sound that heralds the arrival of a text message on Serena’s phone. Berating herself for not having silenced her phone as soon as she woke up and realised the delicate condition she was in, Serena, moving as little as possible, extracts her mobile from the coat she is still wearing. At least, she thinks, she hadn’t bothered to take the phone out of her pocket before she flopped on the sofa. If she had, it was likely that the unmuffled sound would have split her head. Lifting her arm above her head and bringing the phone into her field of vision she can see that the message is from Fleur,

*Serena Campbell – you saucy little minx! That was quite the performance last night. I can’t wait for an encore.*

Serena’s eyes widen. The thing is, her memories of the night before are hazy at best, and she can’t be quite sure exactly what had happened. She certainly can’t remember doing anything that might require an encore. Although, she has to admit, that things had got rather blurry once the fourth bottle had been opened. Serena prods gently at her memory banks, there was something there, some ghost of a memory, but she can’t quite pin it down. She very much hopes that the hole in her recollections is due to the amount of Shiraz she’d drunk last night and not her brain attempting to shield her from the worst that had happened. Before she can decide which is more likely, a second text message from Fleur pings onto the screen. 

*And you needn’t think I didn’t see you darting behind that pillar this morning. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to avoid me. It’s not as if you have anything to hide from me – not any more*

Serena stares incredulously at the words on the screen. She can feel a sense of dread and horror creeping up from her stomach and making her feel vaguely nauseous. Swallowing down the groan she can feel about to escape her lips she drops her hand, removing the phone with its ambiguous and incriminating messages out of her sight. 

“I think I might have embarrassed myself.” she says to no one in particular, but to the empty office at large, a pained look on her face. 

Perhaps it was for the best that Serena’s attempts to piece together the events of the previous night were cut short by a knock on the office door. Glancing up Serena sees the door open just wide enough for Donna’s head to pop through.

“We’ve got a patient coming up from the ED.” Donna rattles off rapidly. “She’ll be here in about ten minutes”. As Donna speaks she registers that her boss is, very unusually, laid out on the sofa. Her make up is immaculate but Donna can just make out that she’s rather pale underneath it. “I could always get Mr Griffin, if you’d rather...” Her voice tails off as she sees the flash of fire streak across Serena’s eyes.

“I’m perfectly capable” Serena insists, despite her prone on the sofa position undermining her statement quite significantly. Donna opens her mouth to reply, thinks better of it, and merely nods efficiently before withdrawing safely to the other side of the office door.

She should have known, Serena thought, that on the one day she needed a gentle start she would be thrown straight into the deep end. As gently and as smoothly as she can manage Serena sits herself up, then stands. Her head seems to make it all the way up with her, her legs feel stable enough to hold her up. The coffee must be kicking in she thinks. Deciding that she can risk more rapid movement she shrugs off her coat and hangs it on the coat stand. Her next priority, she decides as she rummages in her desk drawer, is to top up her paracetamol levels. Her hands clasp round a packet of tablets hidden in the depths and she wastes no time popping a couple of pills out of the blister pack and into her mouth. She washes them down with the best part of the bottle of water on her desk. Beginning to feel a little more human she decides to brave the mirror. The image that stares back at her doesn’t look as ravaged as she had feared. Congratulating herself on having done a better job with her make up this morning than she’d thought she smooths down her hair, rumpled from her choice of position on the sofa. ‘You’ll do Campbell’, she tells herself as she hangs her stethoscope round her neck and prepares to face the ward on the other side of the door.

It would seem that Donna’s prediction of the new patient arriving in about ten minutes was somewhat wide of the mark. Serena had passed the ten minutes, or what was left of it by the time she emerged from the office, casting a beady eye over the ward. All seemed to be ticking along nicely, so she had perched herself at the Nurses Station and acquainted herself with the current patient list. There was no point, she had decided, in starting any patient based work until the new admission had been assessed and admitted. She’d only be forced to cut whatever she was doing short to process the new case. As the ten minutes turned into fifteen, and then twenty, Serena’s mind began to drift back to the previous night. Fleur had asked if she wanted to join her at the opening of her friends new bar. She’d been rather persuasive. According to Fleur, Serena needed to get out more, to have some real fun. The bar was a classy establishment, an enjoyable evening was guaranteed. Not only, Fleur had said, would Serena have the pleasure of Fleur’s company but that of several of her friends – who Serena was bound to love. Serena had started to waiver under Fleur’s onslaught. How bad could it be? she’d thought. It was, after all, an opportunity to drink Shiraz in company. If the evening was a wash out, she remembered thinking, she could always make her excuses and leave. As she recalled (and the amount she could recall was very limited) the Bar had been everything that Fleur had promised her it would be. Classy, tastefully decorated, a welcoming atmosphere and the House Red had turned out to be a more than acceptable Shiraz. Fleur’s friends had proved to be as fun and friendly as she had promised. The owner of the Bar had met her like she was a long lost friend. Why then, Serena wondered, did she have such a sinking feeling that a night which had started off with such promise had ended rather badly? 

Her train of thought is interrupted by the doors being thrown open and a hospital bed being wheeled loudly through them. At last, thinks Serena as she steps forward to meet the patient.

“What have we got” she asks Donna.

“This is Mrs Godstone. She was crossing the road and got hit by a car at low speed. Other than assorted cuts and bruises she’s got a broken fibular. The ED reduced it but they are worried about vascular damage, so they sent her to you.”

“Thank you. Bay three please.” Serena tells Donna before turning to address the patient. “Mrs Godstone, I’m Serena Campbell and I’m going to be looking after you.” she says kindly. The patient smiles weakly back at her as the bed moves off in the direction of bay three.

“Donna, can you get me a Doppler please? What was the delay getting her up from the ED?”

“She had a pv bleed just as she was leaving the ED - turns out she’s ten weeks pregnant. Ethan has arranged for an Obs and Gynae consult, but they’re short on beds down there so he arranged for it to happen up here.”

“Right. Lets see if I can do my assessment before Obs and Gynae arrive.” Serena says as she heads towards the patient, focused on dealing with the damaged leg.

It doesn’t take long for Serena to conclude that, whilst the viability of Mrs Godstone’s leg is not immediately compromised, it will require surgery within the next day or two. If all goes well there shouldn’t be any long term sided effects. The relieved thanks of Mrs Godstone ringing in her ears, Serena settles herself at the Nurses Station and begins to update the patients records. She’s just entering a note to say that the proposed surgery will need to be discussed with Obs and Gynae in relation to the pregnancy when the realisation hits her. Obbs and Gynae. The department Fleur runs. There’s no way, after last night and those texts this morning, that Fleur is going to pass up this opportunity to come down to AAU. Groaning inwardly Serena decides the wisest course of action is to hide. She’s feeling too delicate to face Fleur today. She needs all the energy she can summon, in her weakened state, to deal with her patients. 

Collecting together a pile of patient files that need attention, Serena stands up to head back to her office, deciding it’s the best hiding option the ward offers. She makes it as far as the entrance to the Nurses Station before Donna appears in front of her.

“Miss Campbell, can you take a look at bay seven please. I’m not happy with the look of him. His temperature is up and he’s a bit tachycardic.”

“Right, OK. Leave it with me. But first I’m just...” She stops speaking suddenly as she feels something swat against her backside. Jumping slightly with shock she spins round to see Fleur Fanshaw, patient file in hand, grinning impishly behind her.

“You heard what the woman said.” Fleur scolds. “your special skills are needed.”

“Quite.” says Serena too shocked at Fleur’s cheek to formulate a better reply, unable to believe her bad luck. “But what about your consult?”

“No rush. I’ll be waiting for you right where you left me.” replies Fleur – a knowing look on her face.

“That’s what I was worried about.” Serena mutters as Donna leads the way to bay seven. As she goes she’s almost certain she can hear Fleur laughing softly to herself. 

It turned out that Mr Telford, the unfortunate occupant of bay seven, had a minor infection from an insect bite that he had neglected to mention. It had been a simple task to identify the source of the infection, and the matter of a moment to prescribe the appropriate antibiotics. It took much longer for Serena to write up the diagnosis and treatment plan in the patient notes. Much longer than it should have done. Whilst Serena believed in being nothing but thorough in treating patients, and meticulous in her record keeping, even she couldn’t claim the time she was taking over Mr Telfords was anything more than an avoidance strategy. She glances up from the notes towards the Nurses Station. Fleur is still there, leaning on the counter with one arm, her eyes are sparkling with mischief. Serena realises that there is nothing more she can do to prolong the inevitable. Fleur is clearly going nowhere without Serena and Mrs Godstone really does need that consult. She’s going to have to face the music. Replacing the notes at the end of the bed Serena bids the unfortunate Mr Teford goodbye, steels herself, and heads back towards the Nurses Station to bid Fleur good morning. Judging by the cheeky expression on her face, Serena is convinced that Fleur is planning a very good morning indeed, and mainly at her expense. 

“As ever Miss Campbell, I’m all yours.” Fleur says once Serena gets within hearing range. “Where do you want me?” she continues with wicked, amusement writ large across her face. I’m going to need considerably more coffee, Serena thinks to herself, as she attempts to answer Fleur as professionally as possible, whilst blatantly ignoring the innuendo coming just as blatantly from Fleur.

“It’s Mrs Godstone. She came up from the ED after having a PV bleed. They wanted an Obs and Gynae consult and I’d appreciate your opinion on any implications for her having surgery. She really needs that leg wound fixing before there’s any permanent vascular damage.”

“Of course. Anything for you.” Fleur confirms with a clear twinkle in her voice. Serena stifles a sigh of exasperation and says

“This way.”

Whilst Fleur was indeed a consummate flirt she was also very much a professional and her examination of Mrs Godstone was efficient and thorough. Mrs Godstones’ mind was put very much at rest. Serena’s mind too was also at rest. Fleur had managed to refrain herself from any risqué comments and Serena had started to hope that that she had done her worst, but sadly her hopes were dashed as soon as they left the cubicle.

“You needn’t think that you’re fooling me with that professional persona. I’ve seen exactly what’s underneath it… and it’s delightful.” Fleur says with a knowing look. Lulled into a false sense of security, Serena is taken aback enough for Fleur’s words to stop her in her tracks. She looks at the figure of Fleur walking away from her down the corridor towards the Nurses Station aghast. What had Fleur meant by that? And what on earth had she done last night? Serena knows something happened last night, it’s lurking just out of reach in her memory, and try as she might, she can’t get a hold of it. Realising that she’s standing looking bemused in the middle of her ward she gives herself a mental shake and makes her own way back to the Nurses Station.

Fleur is already there, perched on one of the seats behind the desk, looking for all the world as if she owned the place. Serena was surprised that she hadn’t put her feet up on the counter and made herself properly comfortable. Fleur does, however, have her nose buried in Mrs Godstone’s notes so at least, Serena thinks, she’s doing the work she was asked down to do and not solely making her feel uncomfortable. As Serena approaches the station Fleur swings her legs round, turns in her swivel chair so she’s facing the direction Serena is approaching in, and peers at her over her rim of her small ovalish glasses.

“Looking for me, Miss Campbell?” She asks, her bright red painted lips curling into the beginnings of a mischievous grin.

“Looking for your opinion on Mrs Godstone.” Serena counters, trying to keep the level of banter down and the level of professionalism up.

“Can’t say I’m not disappointed.” Fleur counters, a pout on her face. 

“Will Mrs Godstone be OK for surgery tomorrow?”

“Should be. Baby’s heartbeat seems good and strong. There are no signs of distress. Doesn’t look like a placental abruption. My suspicion is it’s cervical bleed brought on by the accident. It seems to have stopped now. I’ll want to keep her under observation overnight, but so long as there’s no further bleeding then I’m quite happy for you to operate tomorrow with usual pregnancy precautions only. I know she’ll be in good hands.”

It had obviously been too much to hope for that Fleur would be able to restrain herself from making inappropriate comments for long. Making a concerted effort to avoid letting Fleur get to her, Serena asks

“I assume that you’ll want to see her tomorrow morning to clear her for surgery?”

“AAU holds many attractions – not just Mrs Godstone. I’ll most certainly be here tomorrow morning.” Fleur says, causing Serena to bite her tongue almost hard enough to draw blood.

“Oh Donna.” Serena calls out as Donna walks past the Nurses Station. “Could you book Mrs Godstone into surgery mid morning tomorrow please, with a note that she needs to be cleared by Ms Fanshawe first.” 

“Of course. How are you Fleur?” Donna enquires politely.

“Maybe you should ask your boss.” Fleur suggests with a grin. “Last night was quite the night thanks to her.”

“Last night?” Donna asks quizzically. 

“You mean she hasn’t told you what she was up to last night? It was rather...”

“Fleur.” Serena’s voice rings out cutting the other woman off mid sentence. “My office, now please.” It’s the tone of voice Serena uses with F1’s to scare them into obedience. Fleur is no nervous F1 though, she and Serena are very much peers in their professional lives. However the authority in her voice still seems to work on Fleur – although she does flash Donna a wry smiled that no F1 would have dared to before she follows Serena to her office.

Serena holds the door open for Fleur to enter ahead of her, and Fleur takes the opportunity to brush past Serena just a fraction closer than strictly necessary as she goes into the small but comfy room and takes a seat on the sofa. Serena closes the door firmly behind them and sits herself on her chair behind her desk, with the sole concession of spinning it round so she is facing her colleague. Before Serena can say a word Fleur speaks up.

“So now you want to talk to me? I got the distinct impression that speaking to me wasn’t high on your list of things you wanted to do.” Serena flushes slightly. Fleur is pretty much spot on and the knowing look she is giving Serena is making her feel quite uncomfortable.

“That’s not strictly true.” Serena starts, but the sight of Fleur’s raised eyebrow peeping over the top of her glasses makes her realise the game is up. She’s going to have to explain to Fleur that she simply can’t remember what she’d done the night before. “About last night, I...” Serena tries as an opener, but doesn’t finish because Fleur has interrupted her.

“It was such a fun night. You certainly seemed to be having a great time.”

“Oh I did. I think.”

“You certainly made an impression on my friends. They thought that you were quite the party animal.”

“They did?” Serena asks, not sure if she should be feeling concerned or complimented.

“Oh, absolutely.” Fleur confirms. “It was the leopard print bra that swung it.” she adds in a slightly too blaise voice. 

“Well” says Serena, lulled into something of a false sense of security at the compliment, “It is one of my better ones. It’s...” She halts abruptly as she realises the implications of what Fleur has just disclosed. “How did your friends know about my bra? How did they see it?” She can start to feel panic gathering in the depths of her stomach.

“Everyone saw it when you were dancing on the table.” 

“I was dancing on the table?” Serena checks, feeling the panic tighten into a knot.

“Mmhmm.” Fleur confirms happily. “And you had some moves. Why did you never tell me you could pole dance?” Serena blanches. 

“It’s not something I like to remember.” she offers by way of explanation. “But why would dancing on the table mean that everyone saw my bra?” Piecing together the events of the night before was going to be more painful than the hangover she realises.

“You took your top off when you got up on the table to dance. You were having a hot flush and you declared that you were hot in your clothes and even hotter out of them.” The swallow Serena makes on hearing this is so loud it must have been audible across the ward.

“I did?” Serena says in a tone that’s halfway between abject horror and embarrassed amusement. 

“Just after you decided that we should switch from wine to shots. It was you who decreed that we should all start with the Raspberry Sourz and then move onto the Rainbow Ice flavour. It was also you who insisted that we should buy them by the bottle.”

“Right.” says Serena cautiously, not quite sure what an appropriate response to that revelation might be. Fleur looks at her quizzically before a look of realisation dawns on her face. 

“You don’t remember that, do you?” she states. Serena cringes inwardly and says rather weakly, 

“Some parts of the evening are a little hazy,” Fleur looks at her, horror on her face – or so it seems. Serena isn’t entirely sure that it’s genuine. There is what could have been a smile hiding in the corners of her brightly painted lips. 

“What, exactly, do you remember? Fleur asks. Serena knows the game is well and truly up.

“Not so much.” she admits. “I have a general idea of what happened, but the precise details are less than clear.”

“But you remember what happened between us? You remember kissing me? Getting a cab to your place? What happened afterwards?” Fleur asks with a certainty that suggests she doesn’t think anyone who’d had the pleasure of being kissed by her would be able to forget the experience. She’s looking pointedly at Serena, who doesn’t see because she’s hiding her face in her arms which are resting on the desk in front of her. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be, Serena thinks to herself. It’s worse. Far, far worse.

“I’m sorry, It seems I behaved rather badly last night. I certainly had no intention of embarrassing myself, or you. I apologise if my behaviour towards you was inappropriate.” Serena mutters from between her arms.

“You really don’t remember what happened at all, do you?” Fleur asks, all pretence at teasing now gone. 

“No. Not all of it anyway. The first bit’s pretty clear. The bar was great and your friends were lovely. The Shiraz was very drinkable. Too drinkable. I think it was me who insisted on the fourth bottle of wine. It’s pretty much a blank after that.”

“Right.” says Fleur as she stands up and steps towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Serena asks rather weakly.

“If I’m going to fill you in on all the gory details from last night we’re both going to need coffee – and lots of it.” and with that she slips out of the office and, Serena presumed, to Pulses to collect the fortifying coffee. Serena gave herself a moment to gather her thoughts before firing up her computer. If she was going to have to wait for Fleur to return she might as well go through her emails. If she’s in luck they’ll be something in her inbox to distract her. It takes her five minutes to clear away all the spam and circulars of no interest to her and the like. The vast majority of the speculative emails from medical supply reps go the same way, one or two being flagged for a closer look later. She notes a change of date for the next Board Meeting – the joy of being Medical Director is most certainly not the obligation to once again attend meetings of the Board. There are a couple of requests for leave and rota changes which she deals with in a matter of minutes. She’s just about to open an email from Hansen entitled “Sabbatical”, curious to see which of her colleagues is going to be lucky enough to get an extended break from the hospital, when the door swings open and Fleur reappears clutching two full coffee cups.

Serena turns her attention away from the computer and back to Fleur. Taking one of the proffered cups with an appreciative noise she takes a fortifying sip whilst she waits for Fleur to settle herself back on the sofa. 

“OK.” Serena almost sighs when Fleur is comfortable. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Tell me the worst.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Well,” replies Fleur as she wriggles slightly on the couch to get into a better position “You didn’t insist on the fourth bottle of wine, but you did suggest that, as there were six of us, it would make more sense if we brought the wine two bottles at a time. Of course, everyone insisted on buying their round. By the time we were twelve bottles of wine down your suggestion of moving onto shots seemed like a much better idea than it actually was. Once the bottle of Raspberry Sourz was on it’s way to empty no one objected to trying the Rainbow Ice flavour. I must say I was surprised that you found out about that little gem before me. What’s your source?”

“Evie Fletcher.” Serena says quickly. It’s by far the easiest part of Fleur’s statement to respond to. 

“Ah!” acknowledges Fleur.

“Then what happened?” Serena asks, wanting all of this (whatever this is) out in the open as soon as possible. Wanting to get it over with quickly, like ripping off a plaster.

“Well the DJ decided to do a little Lizzo tribute, and you, apparently, are a big fan, and you...”

“Insisted on dancing.” Serena interrupts as a wave of memory hits her, closely followed by a wave of embarrassment. 

“Mmhmm.” confirms Fleur, but Serena doesn’t hear. She’s lost in a recollection. Juice. That had been it. That had been the song she couldn’t resist dancing to. She hadn’t been the only one. The tables in the bar had been arranged around the edge of a dance floor and several people had taken the necessary couple of steps away from their tables and begun to dance with considerable abandon. Serena had, she remembered, dragged at least two of Fleur’s friends out to dance with her. Fleur, not willing to miss an opportunity to get up close and personal with Serena, had joined in happily. It hadn’t exactly been dirty dancing levels, but there had been no way that what they’d been doing on the dance floor had been entirely chaste. There had been a certain amount of gyrating and body parts rubbing against others, Serena recalled with a growing sense of dread. It was the “up here getting loose line” that had been where the real trouble had started. Dancing to Lizzo, even overly familiar dancing, wasn’t that bad. It could easily be explained away or excused as tipsy fun, over exuberance, or high spirits. Dancing to Lizzo on a table in the middle of a busy bar, less so.

Serena had jumped onto the table, she recalled, (or had it, more accurately, been an inelegant scramble?) and exclaimed loudly that if Lizzo said she was “up here getting loose” then “up here getting loose” was exactly where she was going to be too. She’d made it up onto the table just in time to hear the song end. It might just have been OK if Serena had stopped there, climbed down from the table and returned to her Shiraz, or even one of the half empty bottles of Shotz. She might have done just that if it hadn’t been for the fact that the next song the DJ chose was Tempo. Once Lizzo announced “I’ve been waiting for this one.” it was too late. There was no way Serena was getting down before this track ended. It was something of an anthem for her. Whilst she wasn’t a ‘skinny ho’ and certainly wouldn’t have picked the phrase ‘thick bitch’ to describe herself she very much felt the underlying message of the song. As a lady with an ample amount of delicious curves and dips she was very much in favour of any song that had tempo – all the better to show off her moves and said curves and dips. Serena recalled there having been rather a lot of encouragement of and appreciation of her efforts. She even thought that there might have been one or two wolf whistles. One of the reasons Serena was an especial fan of this song was the mention of twerking. 

Serena had always always had a natural ability to dance, ever since she’d been a child. She’d never excelled, one of the reasons she’d given up the tap and ballet lessons, but the natural talent and early training had stood her in good stead when she’d dabbled in other forms of dance as an adult. Her ballroom was elegant and her salsa fiery. When the twerking trend had taken off she’d given it a go and found that, whilst her skills might not be ‘up on legendary’, she did have a certain aptitude for the move. It seemed that the patrons of the bar shared that opinion because, when she introduced the move into her routine it was met with a flurry of cat calls, whoops and applause. It might have been the exertion of the dancing, or the heady rush of the crowds appreciation, that had made her suddenly unbearably hot. Most likely it was a combination of both and an untimely hot flush that had made her overly warm. It was quite clear now in her recollection that this was the point at which she had decided to remove her top, It had, at the time, seemed like a very logical and sensible thing to do. In the cold, sober, light of day it seemed very much less so. She honestly didn’t know if she should be more embarrassed by the fact that she had danced half naked in public, or that she had declared herself hotter out of her clothes than in them. As much as she was loathed to admit it Fleur’s reports of what she had announced to the club at large sounded far too accurate to have been made up. The one saving grace she was clinging onto in all of this was that at least her bra had been one of her better ones, and not one of her older and more worn ones – or one of her lacy and virtually see through at points numbers. 

Her train of thought was interrupted by a fresh wave of memories. Oh dear God! She’d actually swirled her top in the air. The electric blue shirt had spun through the air until she’d thrown it down on her empty chair. She’d done it with such force that she’d had to grab the pole, running through the centre of the table from ground to ceiling, to stop herself falling of the edge. It had been at this moment exactly, she now recalled, that she’d decided to bring her pole dancing skills out of retirement. It wasn’t something she’d done since her student days – and even then it hadn’t been something she’d ever done in public on more than one or two occasions. But, right then, standing up there on the table, clinging to a pole, it seemed the best possible idea to dust of her skills and see if she still had it. 

Her mind had finally been made up when the DJ faded out Tempo and faded up Worship. As soon as recognised the opening bars of the song her hands had gripped the pole more tightly. Looking back on it now Serena had no idea what had made drunk her think that she would be able to remember any of the moves or techniques she’d once known, let alone perform them with any degree of competence. At best, she’d thought all she could hope for was that she would be able to manage a couple of gyrations. It had seemed, though, that once she got started, it had all come flooding back to her. She had images of herself flashing through her memory banks, of her not only swirling and gyrating round the pole, but swinging from it. Probing her memory banks more carefully she realised that what she had been doing up on that table had been a version of a routine she’d learnt when she’d been a med student and learning to pole dance had been a subversive and rebellious act. 

The routine started innocently enough – strutting around the pole and flashing a few smiles, then adding in a couple of drops with sweeping legs to get you elegantly back to your feet again. Gradually you worked your way closer and closer to the pole, more and more tightly in until you could let go, turn your back to it and drop down the pole leaning against it to support your weight until you were in a crouch. Using your inner thigh muscles to power the move, you rest your hands on your knees and throw them as far apart as possible, rapidly slamming them back together again – leaving your audience (whoever they happened to be) wondering if you really had just done that. Hands then went above your head so you could pull yourself up and round (counterbalancing with a leg extending outwards as you go) rotating round so you’re facing the pole. Wrap yourself around it. Hold tight with your thighs, lift off the ground and spin round, your pointed leg once again leading the way. When you land back on the ground spin round the pole and spin yourself round the other way so your back is against the pole ready for what, in all honesty, could only be described as writhing against it. When you’ve done enough of that, swivel so you’re facing the pole, hook your leg around it, anchor yourself by the knee and lean back – elongating your neck and arching your back. You should end up facing your audience upside down and treating them to an unobstructed view along your chest and abdomen. The thought of the last move is enough to snap her out of her haze of recollection and bring her back to her office – where Fleur is looking at her with amusement.

“Did I...” 

“Pole dance on the table in your bra?” Fleur finishes for her. “Yes. Yes you did.” confirming Serena’s recollections.

“What must people have thought of me?” Serena wonders aloud.

“I think that there were people, who like me, appreciated your many talents. Here.” Fleur adds as she removes a £20 note from her pocket.

“What on earth is that for?” 

“I believe it’s known as a tip. In any case someone slipped it under your bra strap last night. They must have enjoyed the show It was quite the performance.” Serena is too shocked by the revelation to take the bank note that Fleur is holding out to her. Fleur shrugs and pops the note on the desk.

“What else did I do?” Serena asks fearfully.

“In terms of pole dancing? Nothing really. Once your fans started putting money in you bra we had a little conversation and you agreed that an encore wasn’t needed. And you agreed that, as the bar tender had asked so nicely, you would indeed get off the table. I even managed to persuade  
you to put your top back on.” 

“Thank you.” Serena replies, unsure if she should be more grateful to Fleur for looking after her, or more embarrassed that she had needed looking after. Something however tells her that, although her memories of the evening have stopped at this point there is more that Fleur is yet to remind her of. 

“What happened then?”

“We had a discussion about going home. I was all for it. You needed to get to bed and it was rather late. You suggested that 1.30am wasn’t late, it was in fact rather early. You told me you didn’t want to go home to your very large and very empty bed alone when you could be having fun.”

“And what did we decide?”

“We compromised. You agreed I could take you home in a cab if I let you finish your glass of Shiraz first. It seemed like a pretty good deal to me. But I insisted that when you’d finished your drink we waited for the cab outside the bar so you could get some fresh air.”

“And that’s how we ended up in a shop doorway!” Serena interjects as another memory comes back to her.

“It is.” Fleur confirms. “You weren’t very steady on your feet when we first got outside.” she adds. 

“Oh, God! Was that when we...” Serena asks mortified.

“Yes it was, except it wasn’t we, it was you.”

Serena remembers now. She’d made her way out of the bar, very much less steady on her feet than she normally was, but fine considering. Well she had been until she’d actually stepped out of the door and gone from the warmth of the bar to the harsh cold outside. It had taken her a few moments to catch up with the temperature change and, whilst she did, overwhelmed, she’d stumbled slightly. Fleur, who had a guiding arm held loosely round her waist, had instinctively tightened her grip, preventing Serena from falling, but sending them both staggering into the doorway of the cake shop next door, which brought their momentum to an abrupt halt. Both women had lent against the door and taken the opportunity to catch their breaths. Fleur’s arms were still firmly wrapped around Serena’s waist and Serena had brought her arms up to Fleur’s waist as they had stumbled in an effort to steady herself. Neither woman made any move to loosen their grip. Serena remembered thinking how good it felt to be held. Remembered her eyes had flicked down to Fleur’s face and found it was tilted up looking at her. There had been care and concern in her eyes. Her lips had been ever so slightly parted as if she might have been about to say something, but they were also full and painted a warm and inviting shade of red. Serena couldn’t remember exactly how it had happened, or what she’d been thinking, but somehow she’d found herself leaning down and pressing her own lips to Fleur’s. For a moment her lips had rested there, met by a warm gentle pressure. It had felt nice. Good even. But it had been missing something. There had been no fire, no spark. It had lasted a matter of moments before Fleur broke away from the kiss, and moving her head back from Serena’s, had said, with a tinge of regret,

“It’s not that I’m not flattered Campbell, or that I haven’t wanted to kiss you for a very long time, but I’d really rather it happened when you were going to remember it. And I don’t make a habit of making out with drunk people, no matter how gorgeous. It has a habit of causing trouble I’ve found.”

“Sorry.” Serena had said, suddenly feeling much more sober than she had a few moments ago and much, much more embarrassed.

“I’m flattered, honestly. It’s fine.” Fleur had reassured her. “You aren’t the first woman to kiss a friend at the wrong time and I dare say you won’t be the last. Lets just get you home safe.”

Serena had slightly hazy memories of an ensuing conversation about how best to get home. Serena had declared that she was happy to walk. Fleur had declared that there wasn’t the tiniest possibility of that happening, especially given the shoes she was wearing. Serena had argued that there was no need for Fleur to escort her home. Fleur had argued that there was. The disagreement had been cut short by the arrival of the cab that Fleur had ordered whilst Serena had been finishing her wine and being encouraged to but her top back on – against the vehement objections of those who didn’t want her to replace it and thus deprive them of the frankly magnificent view. Seeing as the cab had arrived and Serena had belatedly realised that she was over ten miles from home she had allowed Fleur to pour her into back seat and fasten her safely in. She remembered Fleur giving the driver Serena’s address as she slipped into the seat beside her. She could remember feeling suddenly rather tired and she assumed that she must have dozed off momentarily because the next thing she recalled was waking up with her head on Fleur’s shoulder. She obviously hadn’t been that awake because, although she had offered an apology for falling asleep on her, she hadn’t removed her head. Fleur, in return, had made a flippant comment about now being able to say that she’d slept with Serena, but made no effort to pull away or remove Serena’s head.

Half asleep, very full of alcohol, comfortable against Fleur and lulled by the warmth of the car Serena had found herself in a confiding mood. The memories she was running through her head like film on a projector ground to a screeching halt. 

“Fleur, what did I tell you in the cab?” she asks fairly desperately. 

“I’m offended!” Fleur declares with mock horror. “You’re obviously remembering what happened last night – and you’ve skipped past the part where you kissed me without even a mention.”

“How did you know I’d remembered that?”

“You have a very expressive face. I can almost see what part of the evening you’re reliving just by your expression. It’s quite the show.”

“Right. I suppose I should apologise again for throwing myself at you like that.”

“Oh, no need. I wouldn’t have said it was unwelcome, just mistimed. I will, however be scarred for life that the pleasure of kissing me isn’t seared into your memory for all time. How could you forget something as momentous and delicious as kissing me?” Fleur protests in mock horror.

“As I now recall what happened between us was barely enough to be considered a kiss, and you very sensibly and rapidly put an end to my drunken attempts to – well I don’t know what I was trying to do. I’m sure if I’d had the full ‘Fleur Fanshawe kissing experience’ it would have been something I would never have forgotten.”

“Not a bad save at all Campbell.” Fleur admits. “I’d be more than happy to give you the full experience whenever you like – although I very much doubt that you’ll ever want to take me up on it.” she adds with genuine regret.

“Well, I do think that we’re much better off as friends.”

“Oh, I know that, but a girl can dream! Besides, it’s not that. There’s someone else for you.”

“What? Who?” Serena asks, not being at all clear who Fleur might mean. She hadn’t been on a date in months, let alone fallen for anyone.

“The Werewolfe of course!” Fleur says as if it was obvious.

“We broke up ages ago.” Serena corrects her.

“You may have broken up with her, but it’s far from over. You still love her.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” 

“You really don’t remember the conversation we had in the cab, do you?”

“Obviously not.” Serena says. If she’s honest, her mind is in too much of a whirl dealing with the memories she’s already recovered to worry about what else might have happened. She’s still trying to process the fact that she’d made a pass at Fleur and doesn’t really have capacity to consider what on earth she might have said in the cab as well . At least it didn’t seem that she and Fleur had ended up in bed together, which was very much for the best. On the other hand, pole dancing in her bra was, in the scheme of things, pretty bad. What on earth had she said in the cab? She forced herself to think in spite of everything else going round in her mind. It must have been something about Bernie, she was sure of it, as sure as she was that Fleur would take great delight in reminding her of it, what ever it was. It had to have been about Bernie, it was the only thing that made sense of Fleur’s last comment. 

Serena was suddenly hit by a thought from left field. Not entirely relevant to the matter in hand, but close enough to be a distraction and to delay the moment when she’d have to face up to what ever feelings about Bernie she’d admitted to having last night while she was under the influence. Serena’s hung over self saw no problem what so ever with throwing out a fairly desperate attempt to postpone the inevitable. 

“How come you’ve managed to remember so much about last night? You drank just as much as me.”

“Shorter people have faster metabolisms. Means I can handle my drink better.” Fleur rapidly replies.

“Tosh!” Serena calls back just as fast. “You know full well it doesn’t. You’re a Doctor, you can’t possibly believe that. You can’t possibly expect me to believe that!”

“Worth a shot.” says Fleur, a grimace on her face at her unintentional pun which is echoed on Serena’s face. “Truth is I didn’t drink anywhere as much as you did. I nursed the first couple of glasses of wine and I only did two shots. I didn’t even drink enough to deserve a hangover.”

“But why?” asks Serena bemused. This whole night out was your idea. It was you who said we needed to cut lose and enjoy ourselves.”

“When I said we, I meant you. Ever since you let the Werewolfe go you haven’t been yourself. You’ve lost some of your spark. I thought that a night out would do you good, maybe that you might even meet someone else. I didn’t drink much because I wanted to look out for you, to make sure you had a good time. Did you honestly think that it was a coincidence that all the friends I invited to join us were single?”

“Oh.” is all that Serena could offer in reply, She really hadn’t picked up on any of what seemed to have been a rather large and significant sub text. 

“Didn’t work out how I planed though. You only have eyes for one woman.”

“I don’t understand how you came to think that…. Oh...” and Serena tails off as the projector in her head, showing edited highlights of and flashbacks to the previous night, starts up from where it had left off – with a sleepy Serena in the back of the cab with Fleur - and their conversations replays itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Ktlsyrtis for her advice on Lizzo and Daisydoctor13 for her advice on shots,


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything is revealed (except Serena's bra which was revealed in Ch 2)

“Fleur. I miss Bernie.”

“I know you do darling.”

“I still love her.”

“I know that too. Tell me again why you two broke up?”

“She needed to be free, to be able to go where ever she was needed. She needed to be able to have adventures, and not be held back by someone like me. I was never going to be enough for her. Never going to be good enough for her. She deserved better than me. More than me.”

“That is absolute piffle! I’ve heard you talk some drunken nonsense in my time but that takes the biscuit – and the whole damn biscuit tin. What on earth makes you think that you weren’t good enough for her, that you were somehow holding her back?”

“She was an army surgeon at the top of her game. She loved the excitement and adventure of it all. She was setting up a trauma centre in Nairobi. I couldn’t ask her to settle down in boring old Holby and give all that up for me! What on earth could I offer her in return? She never was the swing pushing, bin moving, slipper wearing type.”

“Dear God! Is that what you told her?” Fleur had said incredulously.

“Well, yes. It’s not exactly wrong, is it?” Serena had countered with a certain amount of defensiveness.

“Not wrong? Darling, it’s wrong on so many levels! Do you want me to give you some examples?” Serena had been going to reject the offer, but soon realised the question had been rhetorical when Fleur had proceeded to furnish her with the threatened examples. 

“She’s not the only one at the top of her game. You’re not only one of the best vascular surgeons in the country, but you’re an absolute demon at the management side of the NHS. You’ve got the Board wrapped around your little finger. Professionally you’re pretty much equals. It took both of you to make that trauma bay happen. You can put the idea that she’s a bright star and you’re not right out of your head, along with the notion that you weren’t enough for her. Serena, you’re enough for any woman. I mean, have you seen you?”

“Looks aren’t everything.”

“No they’re not, but you have looks in abundance. You are absolutely rocking that silver vixen image. You’re beautiful and you have a figure to die for. You’re also clever, intelligent, witty, calm in a crisis, driven, resilient, caring and you have the sexiest stern and strict side. There’s no woman that you wouldn’t be enough for. You’re the real deal, the full package.”

“Even if that was true, and I’m not saying that it is, what was I offering her? A life in suburban Holby? Hardly appealing to a woman whose life has always been about chasing the next adventure.” Serena had pointed out.

“Funny. I always thought that Bernie had joined the Army to run away from that dolt of an ex husband of hers, not to run to an adventure. And Nairobi, well she wanted to set that centre up with you. That was the part of the adventure she really wanted. Besides the Bernie you fell in love with, the Bernie you got to know, wasn’t some sort of thrill seeking adrenaline junkie. She was a suburban NHS Consultant. Granted she had a colourful history and a penchant for risky surgery but the way I heard it she was more than happy working with you and running the trauma unit. If they hadn’t closed it down then I have no doubt that she’d still have been here when you got back from your sabbatical. It was enough for her. You were enough for her. I’m pretty certain that she even managed to put out her own bins herself from time to time.

“Even if you are right” Serena had replied, not wanting to unpick too deeply what Fleur had just said, it was far too close to the bone for comfort, “It’s too late. I sent her away. It’s over. Whether I still love her or not is immaterial. I sent her away and she’s not coming back. I just have to get over her.”

“Not coming back? I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” Fleur had said somewhat cryptically as the cab drew up outside Serena’s house.

“What do you mean you wouldn’t be so sure?” 

“I’ll tell you inside. Come on, lets get you home.” Serena had capitulated without fuss, her levels of inebriation starting to subside but her levels of tiredness starting to catch up with her. She’d dug her keys out of her bag, opened the door and left Fleur to tip the cab driver. 

“Coffee” Fleur had announced as soon as she and Serena were safely over the threshold.

“Isn’t it a little late for that?” Serena had queried.

“Normally, yes, but you and I need to talk and I need you as sober as possible.” Fleur had said with determination. Serena, having decided that resistance was going to be futile, had led Fleur through to the kitchen. 

Serena’s top of the range coffee machine had taken almost no time at all to transform the capsules they had picked from Serena’s wide selection into their coffees of choice. They had sat themselves round the kitchen table and sipped slowly on their strong and hot drinks letting the caffeine do it’s work. They had been about halfway down their drinks when Fleur had broken the comfortable silence.

“She still loves you.”

“What?” Serena had said, taken by surprise at the abrupt and to the point comment, rather than it’s content which she hadn’t quite taken on board. 

“Bernie. She still loves you.” Fleur had reiterated. 

“What on earth makes you think that?”

“She told me.”

“She did what? Why? How…?” Serena had asked in bewilderment.

“She made me promise to look after you, that time she came over to visit when Guinevere was born. We’ve been in touch ever since. Oh nothing major.” Fleur had hastened to add when she saw the indignation rising on Serena’s face. “She just checked in with me every now and again, just to make sure you were really as OK as you were telling her you were, well at first. Later, after you split, she just wanted to know how you were coping, if everything was OK. I kept her up to date with what was going on with you – Greta’s accident, that kind of thing. She did it because she cared about you. Still does. There’s been no one else. She’d had offers, of course she has, but none of them were you. Truth be told she’s miserable without you. She loves the job but it’s not enough to make up for not being with you. She’s only ever been truly happy when she’d been with you – so she said”

“And you didn’t think this was worth telling me?” Serena had asked, an angry note in her voice. 

“She made me promise not to. At first it was because she didn’t want you to think she was checking up on you. Then, later, when you’d broken up, she didn’t want you to think that she was a clingy ex or to get in the way of you moving on with your life. She just wanted you to be happy.”

“Then why did she leave without putting up a fight, or telling me how she felt?”

Fleur had let out a sigh.

“Because she thought that you didn’t want her any more. Because the rubbish you fed her about her not being suited to a suburban life and you holding her back was so ridiculous that she couldn’t believe it. She thought you were trying to find an excuse to end things with her. Because she thought that you didn’t love her any more.”

“But I thought she didn’t love me any more, couldn’t possibly love me any more, after what I did with….” Serena had broken off, not sure that she wanted to admit to that particular folly.

“Leah.” Fleur had finished for her. 

“You know about that?” Serena had said anxiously as she started fiddling with the pendant hanging on her chest.

“Mmhmm.” Fleur had confirmed “lucky girl” the only comment she had made. Serena had breathed a sigh of relief when it appeared that Fleur wasn’t going to sit in judgement.

“How did you find out….” Serena had started to ask, but stopped when she realised what the answer must have been.

“Bernie told me. She was worried about you. It was so out of character. She said that if you didn’t want her any more, didn’t love her any more, she could live with that, just as long as she could check from time to time that you were OK.”

“But I do love her!” Serena had exclaimed. 

“Honestly! I could knock your heads together. You love her, she loves you. If you both stopped being so bloody noble about it and actually communicated with each other I think you might find you both want the same thing.”

“What’s that?” Serena had asked. Her brain struggling to keep up with what was happening.

“To be together, of course.”

“What makes you think it would work?”

“I don’t know. The fact that you love each other? The fact that you’ve both been miserable without each other? And I also happen to know that Bernie is in the market for a new job.”

“She is?”

“Her contract at the trauma centre is up. She’s not going to renew it. She only ever went back there because she’d made a commitment. Without you it wasn’t what she wanted. She asked me what I thought of her coming back to the UK; not to Holby exactly, but close enough that she could see her kids often and build some bridges. She’d had other offers, all over the place, but none of them appealed as much as coming home.”

“What did you tell her?”

“To do whatever she thought was the right thing. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

Fleur’s voice in her office calls her back from her recollections of the night before into the here and now of Fleur sat in front of her.

“So. Now we’ve established that you still love Bernie and she still loves you – at least I take it it’s established? You’re not going to deny it now the alcohol has worn of, are you?”

“No” says Serena weakly, “There wouldn’t be much point now would there.

“Not really, The question is still what are you going to do about it?”

“I have no idea.” Serena admits.

“Gone off the plan we made last night?”

“Plan?” Serena says blankly.

“Not remembered that bit yet then?”

“No.” replies Serena, simply too bewildered and bemused by all the revelations and recollections so far to even attempt to remember what kind of plan they might have come up with huddled round her kitchen table in the early hours of the morning full of alcohol and coffee.

“Have you had an email from Hansen this morning?”

“Several. But none that seemed especially relevant to this conversation.”

“But you got one with the heading ‘Sabbatical’, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but I haven’t got around to opening it. I was wondering who the lucky person getting an extended holiday was.” 

“That would be you.”

“What?” 

“You don’t remember phoning Hansen in the early hours of this morning and disturbing him in the middle of his night shift?”

“No.” Serena says, blanching again.

“So I suppose that don’t remember telling him that you needed a sabbatical and that if he didn’t give you one you were going to resign.”

“No. What did he say?”

“I think he laughed.”

“Laughed?” 

“I think so. Hard to tell. Never heard him laugh before. He said he’d been waiting for you to ask. He knew that you’d broken off your last sabbatical too early and only come back because he and Holby needed you to. This is your last week. A chance to tie up any loose ends. You’re off as of Friday evening. He said to take as long as you needed. He also asked you to give his best to Miss Wolfe. 

“He did?”

“Despite his general air of aloofness there’s not much that gets past him.”

“Well it’s got past me. Why would I ask for a sabbatical? And why on earth does he think I’ll be seeing Bernie? He’s very well aware that we’re no longer together.”

“But that’s the whole point of the sabbatical.”

“What is?”

“You decided it’s your turn to surprise Bernie. You’re going to Nairobi to give it one more roll of the dice. You said that you couldn’t let her vanish off to where ever else in the world took her fancy without giving the two of you one more chance to make a go of it.”

“Now I know you’re winding me up. There’s no way...”

“Check your emails.” Fleur interrupts Serena mid stream. 

“What for?”

“You’ll have one from Hansen confirming your sabbatical, and another from British Airways confirming your purchase of a ticket for their flight to Nairobi leaving on Sunday evening.”

Serena scrabbles for her phone, which is laying amidst a pile of paperwork on her desk. Rapidly opening up her emails she scrolls down until she reaches the one from Hansen headed ‘Sabbatical’. She holds her breath as she clicks it and it opens. She scans the content. Unlimited sabbatical, come back when you’re ready, she notes. Fleur had indeed been right - she had booked herself a sabbatical. She goes back to her in box and continues to scan down the list of emails awaiting her attention until she spots one from BA. It’s heading is a booking reference number. In a strange mix of panic and calm acceptance of the inevitable she clicks the email open. As Fleur had predicted it was a ticket to Nairobi (open ended) departing from Holby Airport the following Sunday evening.

“What have I done?” Serena asks, pinching the bridge of her nose to ward off the headache that was building up. “What on earth was I thinking?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that you weren’t going to let the love of your life disappear on you? That you were finally ready to put yourself and your own happiness first? That you and Bernie were meant to be together? That maybe, just maybe, it was your turn to make the grand gesture?”

“But I can’t just go, just leave all of this! The hospital, AAU, Jason. It’s impossible!”

“Let Hansen worry about AAU and Holby. I’ll keep an eye on AAU, and Jason too for that matter. I’m sure that Ric will as well. Anyway, Jason’s settled now. He has Greta and Guinevere. These aren’t objections, they’re practicalities and they can be worked around. Stop using them as excuses. It’s what you want, isn’t it? Bernie? A life with her?”

“Yes. But...”

“No ifs, no buts. Go fight for your woman before it’s too late.”

“I can’t go running halfway round the world for her!”

“Why not? She did for you. And besides, you know what they say about love.”

“Which particular saying about love did you have in mind?”

“The one about love making us do things we’d scarce imagine.”

“It’s madness!”

“It’s love. You’re totally in love with her. You owe it to her to give yourselves one last shot at happiness together. You owe it to yourself.”

“You could put it like that I suppose.”

“Serena Campbell you are getting on that plane if I have to drag you onto it myself. What do you have to lose?”

“My pride. My dignity.”

“I think you danced those away last night.”

“You might be right. Oh, damn it. What do I have to lose. I’m going. I’m going to do it!”

“That’s my girl!” Fleur says, a big gleam on her face as she stands up and turns to wards the door.

“Where are you going?” Serena asks.

“I’m going to leave you in peace. You’ve got your work cut out for you if you’re going to have everything done and dusted by Friday and sort all your packing.” Fleur points out as she reaches the office door and pushes down on the door handle. Before she swings the door open she adds “I’ll pick you up at 5pm on Sunday and drive you to the airport, I’m not giving you a chance to back out.” and disappears rapidly through the doorway before Serena has an opportunity to object. Just as Serena thinks she’s gone Fleur’s face, complete with a wicked grin pops back round the door way and says

“You should pack that leopard print bra. She’ll love it.” The face vanishes as rapidly as it had appeared, leaving the pocket pack of tissues Serena had thrown at it to bounce harmlessly off the door frame. 

Serena turns to look at the pile of paperwork stacked on her desk. Somehow it doesn’t seem as intimidating as it had done when she’s first seen it that morning, not now she knows that on the other side of that mountain she’d be seeing Bernie. A quick check of the clock shows her that she has the best part of an hour before she’s due back out on the ward. Hangover forgotten she pulls the first file towards her and sets to it with gusto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please blame Ktlsyrtis for putting the image of drunk Serena, in a cab with Fleur, head on her shoulder telling her she missed Bernie in my head. This fic is ALL her fault.


End file.
